Armistice
by badacts
Summary: A temporary suspension of hostilities by agreement of the warring parties. S/D, SLASH.


**This is just...me having too much time and not enough words? Yeah.**

**I don't own them.**

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><p><strong>ARMISTICE<strong>

**BadActs**

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><p><em><strong>A temporary suspension of hostilities by agreement of the warring parties.<strong>_

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><p><em>Ripping my heart was so easy – launch your assault now, take it easy;<em>

_Raise your weapon – one word and it's over._

_Dropping your bombs now, on all we've built;_

_How does it feel to watch it burn?_

- Deadmau5, RAISE YOUR WEAPON

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><p>The thing is, Steve and Danny fight more than ever now that they're together.<p>

Words are hard for Steve like they aren't for Danny. It's not the speaking that is the problem – it's the choices he has to make every time he opens his mouth. Before this, the pair of them could let it all roll of their backs like water. Now it's harder to shrug off when the words are weapons, aimed to kill; everything about this hurts, and Steve is learning to hate it.

It's the lack of surety that's driving him wild, Steve knows that as well as he knows his own name. He'd become to used to Danny's steadfast nature, the norm of their feelings for each other written off in favour of their working relationship. This – this is Danny out of control, and although Steve would never say it to his face, he can maybe see now why Rachel couldn't handle him.

Or maybe it's Steve that's out of control. He will freely admit that his speciality is bringing order to chaos, and that when he can't do that he does, on occasion, lose it a little. He isn't afraid of getting injured, any way but this. Right now, he'd give anything for a bit of direction from Danny, a signpost on where this is headed, because Steve_ is_ terrified of getting cut too deep while he's running blind.

Steve has taken to running on the streets at night rather than his usual ocean-ward trails. He's living with the wild beat of his footsteps in time with his heart, drowning everything out. It's just one more risk, in his dark clothes, headlights sweeping over him from behind. Danny would lose it if he knew; that's more of a comfort than Steve would ever admit.

Steve is living on the edge, a delicate ceasefire called between his head and his heart. And Danny can say what he likes about the line, how Steve is walking it, because it's a drop on either side of his feet right now. Steve can't survive a fall from any height when one jolt could crack him to pieces like so much damaged china.

He can, however, live through the kind of fall he's trained for; late Monday he gets pushed off of the roof of a twenty-story apartment block by the perp, barely manages to catch himself on balcony railing before he pancakes on the sidewalk way, way below him. He feels muscles tearing across his shoulders, nearly pops every joint in his body fighting his way back up, but the pain doesn't hit until the adrenaline wears off.

He can understand Danny losing it; he did, after all, think for a few moments too long that Steve wouldn't be able to hang on, and been too far away to help him at all. But it wasn't Steve's _fault_, so he doesn't get why suddenly Danny's making like it's all on him.

When he says as much, Danny goes still where he's standing. It's unnerving, watching Danny stop moving, because even when he sleeps Danny is constantly in motion. His blue eyes are winter-bleak, the kind of season Steve remembers from the SEALs, where you can all but feel death breathing on the back of your neck.

"You don't get it," Danny says, and it's quiet, too shaky. Steve feels the precipice beneath his feet, vertigo threatening to set him staggering. "You don't get it at all."

"Tell me," Steve replies, because this is one tone of Danny's that he can't parse out.

"I don't want you to die, okay? I love you, and I don't want you to die."

And maybe the brink stops crumbling, solidifies with the strength of those words alone; Danny never says things that he doesn't mean. He's never said this, and maybe that means that Steve can finally resume breathing after all this time.

Danny's right there, close, maybe too close when Steve's this raw, and still not close enough. Steve has to put his hands on him, because he _can_. He clears his throat, looks Danny in the eye and fights back the buzzing in his ears. Maybe he's the stronger one in day-to-day life, maybe they're too different for it to be measurable, but Steve knows that Danny is the one of them who is better at _this_, these feelings. Steve can take strength from him, from those words.

"Maybe I do get it," Steve says, sounding rough. He feels it, too, so he supposes that that's fair. "Maybe I just needed to hear it first."

Danny smiles, slow, and he's so beautiful. "You're so broken in the head, McGarrett, it's ridiculous."

Steve can't deny that, he really can't. He can, however, with his hands, his mouth, his body, start to break down the walls that he's been building between the two of them. It's no quick fix, he knows that – it'll take more than touch to work it out, and he'll have to speak again before they're through.

But it's a start.

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><p>- <strong>badacts<strong>


End file.
